


Cum Quae Vulto Tuo

by Octavia_Skylar



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anxiety, Aziraphale is gay, Beelzebub is a bitch, Beelzebub is a girl, Beelzebub was Crowley's abusive exgirlfriend, Complete, Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley is Bisexual, Crowley is Nonbinary, Depression, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, Manipulation, Melancholy, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Pre-Canon, Romance, Sad, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 16:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octavia_Skylar/pseuds/Octavia_Skylar
Summary: She knew. She had to have known. It was the only way to explain it, how she always picked at that one wound. The only thing he truly felt shameful about, the one insult that hurt the most because it was true.





	Cum Quae Vulto Tuo

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This story contains subject material that may trigger or disturb some readers. While it is not graphic it is very blunt about psychological/emotional abuse as well as manipulation and other subject material.
> 
> Also sorry for the horrid format. Originally I wrote this in word document in perfect MLA format but when I copied and pasted it here it went all haywire. I tried fixing it but for whatever reason everything I tried failed. If anyone knows what to do to fix it please post in the comments below.

She knew. She had to have known. It was the only way to explain it, how she always picked at that one wound. The only thing he truly felt shameful about, the one insult that hurt the most because it was true.

  
Beelzebub had been Crawly’s first lover, his first of a lot of things. The first time he came it was into her mouth as her little hummingbird wings buzzed in excitement. He had also been a she at the time but she liked him better as a he so he stayed that way.

It started in the Garden of Eden, as did everything it seemed. The earth had just been made. She was young and excited, a happy girl in a grown woman’s body. She hardly thought once before she dived down to the world below, and he hardly thought twice before he dived after her. Realizing her wings weren’t meant for that kind of flight and wouldn’t catch her. He hadn’t even known her name when she put her hands on his wings right at the base, the most sensitive part of his body, and he pulled up as he landing them safely in the garden below.

  


Others had followed after. He liked being around them, they were like him, asking questions, and when he put forth his own they took them seriously. They didn’t smack him across the face and tell him he was wrong in the head.

The so called “revolution” lasted only a few hours. It was more so a small riot, though that was still being generous. Turns out when beings who have never experienced or really even witnessed bloodshed try to fight with no real concept of what that actually means with weapons they don’t know how to use it’s less violence and more tickle fights, yanking hair, biting, chasing, poking, and gentle pushing. The only two who had a grasp of what they were doing were Lucifer and Gabriel. Watching them fight was like watching his reality physically crumble in front of him.

  
Beelzebub wanted to help the leader of their rebellion. She yanked a flaming sword away from another angel and flew up to him. Crawly flew after like he had before, he grabbed her robe trying to stop her. He already knew they were on the losing side. She kicked him off, and gave him his first bloody nose. Then she was struck down in a flash of light. He never did see what hit her. He caught her awkwardly by her foot, then pulled her up so he was cradling her. An angel charged them and then everyone froze. There was a beam of light around him and he felt weightless. Then he blinked, and he was somewhere new, a dark endless cave that was either to cold or too hot.

  
Everyone else was there to, or at least that’s what it looked like at first. Slowly it dawned on them that only half the angels were here, all their other friends and more than friends (the concept of a lover was still in the making) were still up there. Then the screaming started.

  
It was the worst thing he had ever heard. Hundreds of them just… screaming, crying, and whimpering. It was like listening to a thousand birds having their wings slowly torn from their bodies. Crawly had just sat where he was, silent as the events didn’t quite yet register in his mind. He cleaned Beelzebub’s wound. He had no clean cloth as his robe was now drenched in sweat and dirt so used his tough. Licking away the blood and grime from her face until she blinked awake.

She told him to stop and stood up, she gestured for him to follow. Together they walked to their leader… their new king. She bowed and he copied. Then Lucifer smiled at the two of them, the only ones collected and loyal enough to be of any use. They did as they were told and organized everyone the best they could. Beelzebub carved out chambers in the stone and Crawly guiding everyone to their new living arrangements. There were no doors and therefore no privacy but it was something to do, and at least now they had a place to go at the end of the day.

  
Slowly order was formed yet he was uneasy. Every demon had a breakdown when they fell. If not when it happened then eventually, only his didn’t seem to come. No… his mind had something else in mind. He started getting episodes.

He would always feel sick, tired, and sway out of balance as if he had been drinking when he hadn’t. There would be times when he would be right in the middle of something and then he’d blink and be lying in their nest or sitting at the table and not know how he’d gotten there. He’d lose whole days and Beelzebub would have to sit and explain to him that he was fine, they’d done their daily routine and he’d been fine. He’d remember things that didn’t happen, he was once convinced he and Beelzebub had a fight, she’d yelled at him, calling him every manner of horrible thing. They’d gone to bed angry, then he woke to her smiling face and he’d snapped at her… he’d made her cry and she didn’t know why.

  
Poor Beelzebub, she had always been so patient with him. She was such an attentive lover. Always there when he came back to his senses she was there. She would cradle his head, stroke his hair, and gently rub the spot right between his eyes till he had calmed down. She would care for him like no one else would. She kept the episodes a secret from all the others. She made sure no one knew how wrong he was lest they prey on him. She fed him like clockwork, he never cared much for food, it always made his mouth dry and he always felt nausea come over when he finished, but it made her so happy.

  
She loved cooking for him, it wasn’t too much to eat and make her feel appreciated. Of course she could use magic to make the food, but it never tasted the same, and she always said it was so satisfying to be able to use the herbs she grew herself. After a while he even started to help, he grew basil and rosemary and other spices for her. He even grew blueberries to grow alongside her prized elderberry bush that she never let anyone touch.  


  
He loved her, he really did. In the end he fucked it up himself. He had lain with another behind her back. He was with Raphael. He wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, one moment he was alone with his best friend in his cove, the next Raphael was right over him. He wasn’t touching him but he was close enough he could feel his breath on his face.  


  
“Does this make you uncomfortable?” Raphael asked. “I’ll stop if you tell me to, I won’t hurt you… I’ve seen the way everyone treats you down here, you don’t deserve that. You shouldn’t even be here, such a sweet thing in a place like this. What have you ever done wrong?” He spoke slowly and his soft voice was like a balm to his rattled mind. He wanted to tell him no. He wanted to tell him to get off, that he was with Beelzebub, that he wanted to be loyal, be a good lover but… Raphael was saying everything he had wanted to hear. Everything he had thought himself, everything he was too afraid to speak. He was finally getting validation and it felt so good he wanted to cry.  


  
So he let him stay where he was, and when Raphael placed his hand on his thigh rubbing his thumb and asked:  


  
“May I?”

Crawly nodded his head and let him. When he lifted the skirt of his robe and kissed his knee he made no objection and ignored the growing feeling that this was very wrong. He let Raphael put his mouth over him. Crawly remembered how it felt, even now thousands of years later. He had been so gentle, holding him like he was something fragile and oh so precious. He had fallen apart almost instantly, he hadn’t felt safe but he had felt wanted. Raphael only spent a few moments working his tongue on him before pulling up a flipping Crawly over.  


  
By now Crawly’s sense that this was wrong had frozen into humiliation, he had already let himself be tainted might as well let the bastard have the rest of him as well. He didn’t last a minute under Raphael’s gentle thrusts. When he came Raphael came with him. For a moment Crawly felt blissfully free from the world. Then that moment was over. They were on their sides, Raphael was still inside him, his hands played with Crawly’s hair and he whispered into his ear how good he had been, how pretty he looked.  


  
“I have to go.” Crawly croaked, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have… Beelzebub is going to kill me. I’m sorry.” He wiggled free from Raphael’s embrace and stood up trying to fix himself so he looked like he hadn’t just been fucked.  


  
“It’s alright love, stay with me. She doesn’t have to know. No one can see us,” He gestured to the new curtain that completely covered the entrance. “And I made the place sound proof, she’ll never know… Come back to nest love.”  


  
“I… no I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let- I shouldn’t have lead you on… I have to go!” He found a water fall, it was ice cold and felt like murder on his wings but he needed to clean himself. It must have been hours he spent under there, by the time he was done he was pruned and his hair was ruined, but he still felt unclean. He felt like his sweat had dried to his body and he swore he could still feel Raphael’s cum dripping down his legs despite how many times he checked and found nothing. He could still smell it too.  


  
He couldn’t stand the smell, and he knew Beelzebub would smell it the instant he got home. She’d know, she’d know he was a bad lover, she’d cry and shout and he couldn’t blame her. How could he do this to her? She couldn’t know, she didn’t deserve that kind of hurt. He found a fennel plant and rubbed it all over himself, the perfume drenched him and the oil made his skin itch but no matter how hard he tried the smell was still there.  


  
It was late. He went back home and waited for her. It was like waiting for death in your hospital bed, knowing hell comes next. She came home, hugged him and sniffed his neck.  


  
“You smell like flowers.” She said,  


  
“I fell in a patch of mud today and I had to take a bath. I rubbed fennel on afterward. Do you like it?”  


  
“… No, but it’ll go away.” She knows, he felt his gut sink in on itself, “I brought you a treat.” She knows, he thought, she knows and she’s not saying anything.

Was this forgiveness or punishment? He ate and they went to bed. He felt sick but he knew it wasn’t from food or his episodes. He was a bad lover. She held him as they fell asleep, she kissed him on the forehead. He could still feel Raphael’s cum between his legs, he could still smell it. He must have missed a spot when he was bathing, the fennel wasn’t working.  


  
Fuck I’ve become a little whore haven’t I? I’m sorry Beelzebub… I’m so, so sorry…  


  
He didn’t leave her though, not yet. He decided he would stay. She still wanted him, he still wanted her. Surely he hadn’t been stupid enough to sleep with his best friend. That had to have been an episode. He made it up yes that’s right. He hadn’t been that stupid, it had all been in his head, and yet… He still had that awful smell around him. He would still rub his legs together to catch nothing from running down his thighs.  


  
For a while he was able to convince himself that it had been an episode. The illusion broke when Beelzebub went away for a week, special business on earth or something like that. She had told him, but of course his shit head had decided to black out and the information had been lost. Crawly had woken up in bed in the middle of the night, the first thing Crawly noticed was he was now a she which was odd because he was never a she, Beelzebub didn’t like that. Then she realized she had no idea what time or even what day it was, Beelzebub was gone, she hadn’t known who else to go to. Raphael was only ten minutes away. She must have looked like such an utter mess, flapping the curtain and whimpering on the edge of a full blown panic attack.  


  
“What day is it?” Crawly ask, as Raphael ushered her into his cave.  


  
“What?”  


  
“What day is it? I woke up and I can’t remember and Beelzebub’s gone and I- I…” She broke at that point, sobbing like a sick goose. Raphael wrapped his arms around her and let Crawly cry into him.  


  
“Shhh, it’s alright. It’s the fourth day in the week, Beelzebub left for earth yesterday, she’ll be back in five days.”  


  
“I lost two whole days!” Crawly collapsed and Raphael had to lay her down in his nest, he lay down beside her and stroked her hair as she wept. Her snot and drool pooled on the blankets and soon the entire side of her face was wet. Raphael took a cloth and wiped her face clean, readjusting her so she was resting on his torso.  


  
“It’s alright… It’s alright, I’m here. Don’t cry I hate to see you cry… I’ll keep you safe… I don’t care if you’re wrong in the head. I’ll tell you what your brain forgets… I’ll make sure you’re never abandoned… Beelzebub was such a bitch for leaving you all by yourself. Don’t worry, I’m not that cruel, I’d never leave you. I’ll be with you as long as you need me… You’re just a little confused right now it’s okay. I’ll take care of you. I take care of your head, your heart, your body…"  


  
“Stop… you’re just saying that so I’ll let you rut me.”  


  
“Oh sweet thing… I want a lot more than your body. I want all of you.” He kissed her eyes and nuzzled into her neck sucking gently on her skin. She made no effort to stop him as he lifted her robe and slid into her. He was just as gentle as before, holding her tight to him but never hard enough to bruise. This time her shame was completely drown out but relief. Touch seemed to cement her reality. It was impossible for her brain to conjure this up. It was too vivid, this was real. He was the first to come this time and he brought her with him.  


  
She didn’t leave him. Not yet, she stayed a few more days, terrified to wake up alone in her home again. She felt weary, like she had finally been relieved of a weight she hadn’t known she was caring and her body was just now realizing how strenuous it had been.  


  
She let him do every terrible thing he wanted, from feather-light kisses on her thighs to branding bruises all over her body. She rarely left the nest in those few days, and for a while she was at peace. She was wanted and she was protected. Then she remembered.  


  
“What the fuck am I doing…?” Crawly mutters the last night, the night before Beelzebub returns.  


  
“What do you mean love, you’re right where you belong.”  


  
“I… I can’t do this.”  


  
“Then leave her, stay with me. I’ve taken much better care of you. You know I’m right for you.”  


  
“No, I don’t know. I’ve been with her for thirty two years now, I don’t what to leave her and make her hurt but I don’t want to leave you either… I want both of you… can we try that?”  


  
“No!” Raphael’s response is a clipped shout, the warmth that was there drained like water from a sink.  


  
“Why not? You two get along great why chose when-”  


  
“What is wrong with you? I could’ve turned you away, I could’ve told the other demons about Crazy little Crawly and let them have a little fun with you, but I didn’t. I’ve taken care of you, I’ve loved you, I’ve kept you safe, and calmed you. I thought you’d be a little more grateful.”  


  
“I’m sorry… I am grateful really I am. I just-”  


  
“Just what, can’t make up your mind? You should be here with me.”  


  
“Why can’t I have both?”  


  
“Yes because Beelzebub would be so happy to share, do you hear yourself talking? Stay here with me. If she really loved you do you think she would leave you by yourself?”  


  
“I- I don’t know… I need to leave- I need to think this over. I need to-” As she got up from the next Raphael’s hand shot up and locked her wrist in a vice grip.  


  
“Where would go, back to your empty home?”  


  
“Let go,”  


  
“Answer the question.”  


  
“Raphael you’re hurting me.”  


  
“Answer me and I’ll let go. Where would you go?”  


  
“Home. I’m going home, please let go.”  


  
“What if you have one of your episodes?”  


  
“I don’t know I’ll deal with it when it happens. Please…” Raphael is standing now and he yanks Crawly closer so they’re chest to chest, reminiscent of how they were mere hours ago, yet it is not pleasure that makes Crawly tremble.  


  
“Crawly, don’t come back to me until you’re ready to stay for good, understand? I won’t let you make a whore out of me…. Do you understand!?”  


  
“Yes! I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to mislead you…” Raphael lets go then, and Crawly is running so fast she doesn’t even realize it until she’s half a mile away. The adrenaline still hasn’t faded when she’s found her waterfall and starts cleaning herself. She could do it with magic but somehow that doesn’t seem thorough enough.  


  
The smell returns with a vengeance, and despite how much she bathes she doesn’t feel clean. She feels sticky, like she’s covered in some film of mucus, like she’s a slug or some other disgusting creature. There’s a bruise on her wrist too, it’s green and purple, she runs her thumb over it while she thinks about the last few days.  


  
“I want a lot more than your body. I want all of you.” …. Somehow it didn’t seem romantic anymore. She heals the bruise but she swears she can still feel it. She turns back into a he, just like Beelzebub likes. No fennel this time, it seems pointless, the smell is so strong now it’s practically chocking Crawly… Beelzebub doesn’t notice the smell, no one does…

§

In the end it had been a small thing really, such a small thing. There had been a traitor, the first as everything was still new despite thirty five years going by. There had been punishments before, worse ones too. The treachery hadn’t been a large one and so the punishment was stoning. The demons made a great show of punishments, the perpetrator tied down by the neck in the center of a ring. They had to kneel and with their hands tied it looked they might be in prayer, which everyone found wildly funny.  


  
Beelzebub sat on a raised stage with Crawly beside her. Despite the heavy curtains covering all but the front Crawly felt exposed. Beelzebub had Dagon rally the crowd, get them angry.  


  
“Haven’t we suffered enough?” She asked, “Isn’t it bad enough without this thing turning its back on us, selling us out?” That was probably the worst part, they called the demon: it. They never used their name, never said he or she, they had just become… nothing.  


  
Beelzebub raised her hand and Dagon went silent, the crowd followed suit. She stood from her makeshift throne of weeds and brambles, walked slowly toward the bowl of rocks on a stand. Her eyes were dead as she causally picked one the size of an apple and threw it as hard as she could. It hit the demon right in the temple, and with that the place exploded into chaos. Every demon grabbing whatever was lying on the ground and throwing it at the one in the ring. Most of it missed completely, but enough hit them that by the end of it the poor thing seemed nothing more than a quivering lump of blood and flesh.  


  
It was a small thing really. It wasn’t that he saw himself in the ring. It wasn’t that he already felt like he’d been beaten. It was that dead look in Beelzebub’s eyes. That look that was devoid of everything he loved about her. That look turned her into someone else, no… something else, something that truly did belong in hell, something that would devour you whole if you stared to long. It was a small thing that made him realize just how terrified he was of her.  


  
He left then and there. As soon as the punishment was over, as soon as the crowd dispersed, as soon as he found it in himself to move again he flew upwards. He couldn’t go back to heaven and he knew that, but earth was still free to him. He broke the surface and collapsed.  


  
'What am I doing? I have to go back, I can’t, I have to, I can’t, I’m so stupid I can’t live up here, I’ll have an episode and wake up who knows where, but I can’t, she’s not my Beelzebub, I don’t know what that thing was but it wasn’t her, she loves me, she loves me, I need to go back, I need her to care for me, I need her to make sure I don’t really lose it, but I can’t, I’m a bad lover leaving her like this, I can’t go back, I need her, I can’t, where am I going to live, I need her, she’ll be hurt and it’ll be my fault, I need to be a good lover and go back, I’ll be good, I can’t, I’ll be good, I’ll go back, I need her, I can’t, the one person that loves me and what am I doing, I’ll be good, I’ll go back, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good, I can’t, I’ll be good, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t I can’t, I’m sorry I can’t, I’m sorry I just can’t….'

§

It had been extraordinarily easy, Beelzebub decided. She had only made one mistake, but unfortunately it had been the mistake that made her lose her sweet thing.  


  
She had loved him, really she had. She wanted to hold him, come home to him, listen to him speak about anything and everything, spend every night with him. That’s what love is right. She only did what she had to in order to keep them together. Crawly was too… too threatening. He was the only one who could rival her place as hell’s second in command, if she lost that position to Crawly it would’ve ruined everything. They would’ve fought and split at the seams and neither wanted that, so she did what she had to. Besides if he couldn’t tell elderberries from Deadly Nightshade at that point he was just asking for it.  


  
She had kept his poison right in front of his fucking face, for land’s sake how stupid could one person be. The nightshade kept him placid, kept him right where he needed to be. She found just the right amount to give him, just enough to have him unconscious for a good number of hours, sometimes even a full day. When he came to it was easy to weave some tale about everything they had been doing while he was having one of his “episodes”.  


  
She made sure he had an episode every two weeks at least, though usually once a week. One time the nightshade plant was out of berries and she had to get creative. She yelled at him, it was so cathartic too, to fling every ounce of venom at him. Then in the morning when he woke up still angry she cried. It didn’t happen she said, she would’ve remembered, she would never say something like that, she loved him, why was he being like this. Then he stopped, he blinked, and looked at her terrified.  


  
“Bee… I think I’m wrong in the head.” She was glad she had her face in her hands because she couldn’t help a smile of triumph from creeping to her face. She had him, he was right where he belonged at last. She kept at it, fed him like clockwork but keeping his “episodes” at random. She never struck him, never even touched him, never even let him hit the floor when the nightshade kicked in and he dropped like a stone. She caught him, carried him somewhere she could prop him upward, and left him there till he woke.  


  
She did love to watch him. She loved to lay him out in their nest, pose him with some menial task and just watch him at his most defenseless. The little twitches he gave and the tiny whimpers as he cringed at whatever vision he was lost in. She never touched him though, oh she thought about it but the fun of touching him was watching him react and fall apart before her. In this state she might as well be touching a dead rat. So she just watched…. She missed being able to do that.  


  
Her big mistake was not following after him. She had assumed that after a few days he would come crawling back to her but she was wrong. He stayed where he was, he made himself a new dwelling and found a new love, or he tried to anyway. The thing is most people hate used things. Honestly he went through lovers like an alcoholic goes through wine.  


  
He’d never find someone like her. Someone patient enough to put up with all the little tantrums he gave. Someone who could sooth him, make love to him. That was another thing she missed. She missed running her hands over his body, all the little sounds she could get out of him. She would use her sash as a blindfold and have him kneel in the middle of their nest. What they’d do after that would change every night but she would always keep the blindfold on. As much as she loved fucking him she hated the idea of him seeing her naked.  


  
Oh well, in the end it was probably for the best. Without him around to fret over she excelled. That didn’t stop her from missing him. She still loved him after all. It’s just unfortunately sometimes we love the wrong things.  


  
§  
Crawly wasn’t happy. He really wasn’t happy. All of him ached, he felt rubbed raw, and now he smelled even worse. A small part of him didn’t even want to bother with keeping clean, it was hopeless after all. No matter how much he bathed and groomed himself the feeling of being covered in mucus never left, and the smell overpowered everything in the room. He spent so many hours devoted to rubbing himself down with flowers that in another time people would have whispered OCD behind his back, or perhaps more accurately: PTSD.  


  
It was his own fault really. If he was better then he would be able to make them stay. If he was better he wouldn’t need them in the first place. Unfortunately he wasn’t better and he did need them. Man or woman it didn’t really matter to him, he just needed someone to make him feel grounded. When someone was touching him he felt safe from his own mind. It wasn’t every night but it might as well have been. He would go out, find a place where people were just as lonely as him. Find someone sweet, someone who made him feel wanted- oh who was he kidding he’d take the first person who showed interest. Then some time later they’d be at his home, in his bed, and every time they were fucking him would pray (yes actually pray) that they would still be there in the morning.  


  
They rarely were, and even then they just had breakfast and left. It was his own fault really. Waking up by himself really was the worst thing in the world. At first he would feel around for them then slowly he’d sit up, look around, and have to admit to himself that he was alone. Then he’d search around in the sheets till he found the stains from last nights. It would have dried to the sheets and he’d trace his finger over it, even give a quick sniff before saying out loud:  


  
“Last night I had someone over, we had a wonderful time together and now they’ve gone home.” Before snapping his fingers and it would vanish. He’d finish off the morning ritual with a bath. It was disgusting and he knew that but if he skipped it he’d spend the next few days jittery, trying to remember if he really had been fucked that night or if his damned mind made it up. It might have been one of his episodes, or maybe he had been fucked more than once in the past few days and his mind blacked out. What day was it again?  


  
His episodes didn’t go away, much to his chagrin. Though they weren’t as intense now he was in the fresh clean air of earth rather than leaving him they just took new form. He didn’t black out anymore but his memory was still utter shit. His brain kept inventing memories for him but now he was aware they were invented. He would just be going about his day when suddenly an image would burn behind his eyes. Raphael would be hovering over him in the bed, his hand on his thigh asking ‘May I’ only this time Crawly would be screaming at him to stop but he wouldn’t. Then he’d blink and he’d be on his knees in the street with everyone staring at him like he was a wild animal.  


  
He was finding it harder and harder to sleep too. Somehow that was what bothered him most. He liked sleep, everything always seemed more manageable after a good night’s rest, but without someone to greet upon waking and tell him what day it was he was just too anxious to fall asleep. This brought him back to his new found habit of whoring around, a nice surge of hormones would calm his addled brain and despite how many times he’d been proven wrong he would believe that his prayers would be answered. He’d wake up and they’d still be there, arms wrapped around him in a lose hug, and they’d tell him what happened and everything they said would align with what he remembered and everything would be alright.  


  
Waking up alone really was the worst thing in the world…  


  
He began a new habit. He would wrap himself entirely in blankets, only letting a small opening near his nose for him to breathe, and then he would press his back against the wall. He’d close his eyes and pretend Beelzebub leaning up against him, she still wanted him, she still loved him and would take care of him and sooth his mind till nothing troubled him. Like all of his fantasies it was divine while it lasted till he opened his eyes and reality came flooding back to him. Beelzebub wasn’t here, she had no reason to want him back, he was a bad lover and she deserved better, she deserved someone loyal, someone who could return all she gave, someone who was clean…  


  
He still reeked like a bitch in heat. He wanted to be better, to be good, really he did, he just didn’t know what to do anymore. He would lie awake in bed at night staring at the ceiling and wonder where he should start fixing himself. Once he even got down on his knees and prayed. Demons weren’t supposed to pray, they wouldn’t be punished for it, not officially anyway, they would be made a laughing stock though.  


  
Crawly thought of this, his hands clasped together, knees and elbows aching from the rough stone floor, his back stiff and throbbing. He didn’t know how long he spent like that, long enough for his joints to form bruises. Crawly had never cried before, now his eyes were stung, his throat burned, and his face had turned numb long ago.  


  
"Please, please lord I’ll be good, I swear. I just need a little help… please. I didn’t mean to fall honest I didn’t. I never meant to be bad. I’ll be good, I swear, I’ll put in the work every day for the rest of eternity I just need guidance. I’ll be good, please I just need a little help. I need a friend…. Please…."  


  
§  
Crawly was exhausted. It didn’t matter if his body was perfectly intact. His mind was convinced otherwise, centuries later humans would make a word for this: psychosomatic. His compulsion of whoring around was draining and his gas tank finally hit zero and he flat lined into apathy. Like a coming down from a drug high he went from one extreme to the opposite.  


  
Whereas before he had trouble sleeping and obsessed over the date and time now he would sleep for weeks at a time hoping to wake up to find the apocalypse was already upon them.  


  
It was all becoming too much for him it. It was all slipping out of his grasp, when even your mind can’t ever tell you what’s real, and your body feels like a broken down abandoned house that no one wants, even the small act of leaving your house becomes terrifying. In some ways everything seemed unrecognizable and in other ways it seemed exactly the same.  


  
He had to stay a he for one. Though the reasoning was different the result was the same. He just didn’t feel safe leaving the house as a she anymore. The world seemed to think she’s were bad, which confused crawly, seeing as he’d spent most of his life as a he and he’d been absolute filth. He never noticed any changes when he became a she, aside from the obvious. He also knew plenty of she’s that were very sweet. As far as he could tell how good you were wasn’t really effected by the giblets you had. Yet for one reason or another she’s just weren’t very welcome in this world. He remembered with ugly clarity walking home one night in that part of town lost in thought when someone yanked his hair back. That had been a close one.  


  
So it was another part of him got locked away and buried with all the other shit inside himself… the pile really was starting to grow wasn’t it.  


  
§  
Crawly couldn’t tell if he felt relief or fear when he woke up to find Beelzebub sitting on his kitchen counter waiting for him. His first thought was: 'Oh fuck she’s going to beat me black and blue' yet his second thought was 'It’d be worth it if she took me back.' He missed her more than he could put into words. He was still afraid of her, god was she terrifying, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to be back in her arms. He wouldn’t have to throw himself at every stranger in the street, he’d never wake up alone again, and she would love him. He’d be loved again, he’d be wanted, maybe she could even make him feel clean again… if that was even possible.  


  
“Crawly… What exactly are you doing here?” Her voice flowed and cracked like thin ice over a dark pond.  


  
“I’m sorry,”  


  
“For what?” She was calm yet there was an undeniable growl in her question.  


  
“I-I … I fucked up… I can’t … I-I didn’t mean to I just… I’m sorry.”  


  
“Spit it out already,”  


  
“I’m sorry I-” Something was wrong with his throat, it hurt, it was closing up of its own accord, like all the words he wanted to speak were trying to get out all at once and clogging up right before they reached his mouth.  


  
It’s my fault. I let him fuck me, I let you down, I’m sorry, I’m such a wreck, it hurts, my head, everything fucking hurts but I always felt better when I was with you. Please just forgive me and take me back. I don’t even care how I have to make it up, you can beat me into a bloody pulp for all I care, I just- I can’t- I don’t know how long I can keep going like this please god let her love me.  


  
But he never gets the words out. He tries he really does, he hates seeing her so upset and he starts to tremble when she grabs him by the wrist. She yelling at him, begging and screaming for an explanation he can’t give. She’s on the verge tears when she raises her hand to strike him, and even though he flinches he finds he wants her to bring her hand down. Maybe if she hits him hard enough it would bring penitence. If they get the punishment over with maybe they can go back to the way it was. She could love him again, and he can live without the suffocating guilt. Instead she lowers her hand, she lets go of him, and she leaves him with one last parting shot: “If you ever try and comeback to MY den I will personally break every bone in your body and let the others have their fun with you.”  


  
There was never again any warmth to her. She hated him and she had no problem letting it be known, and he couldn’t blame her. She threw every wretched phrase she knew at him and he couldn’t blame her, he couldn’t blame her because it was true. Her words bounced around in his brain like the horrible song stuck on repeat.  


  
“Fucking hell, Crawly take a bath will you, you smell like a bitch in heat. Look if you want to spend your days rolling around in garbage that’s fine with me but at least have the decency to keep your whoring where the rest of us don’t have to see it. Honestly Crawly you’re like personified mental disorder, I’m glad I let you stay on earth, keeps you away from the rest of us.”  


  
§  
It becomes a pattern, there will be months where he he’s always out and about almost obsessively, bringing home anyone that looks at him. Then his strength fails him and he spends the next few months locked in his room. He’s doesn’t know how to break the habit. He tries, really he does, but he doesn’t know where to start. It’s like trying to piece a broken mirror back together. It’s not like a puzzle where you can look at the picture on the box and say to yourself ‘Ah yes that’s what it’s supposed to look like.’ You can’t even start with the edges, how do you know which pieces are the edges. You can’t even touch a piece without cutting yourself. So how do you fix yourself? How do you push the shards back into place to see yourself smiling back at you?  


  
Crawly once heard that laughter is the best medicine. Some say whiskey is the end all cure all. He’s tried both and neither work for long. Some say sex best sooths the soul, Crawly is pretty sure demons don’t have souls but either way he knows that doesn’t work either. Then there’s love, Crawly is beginning to question if demon even can love. It would explain why he couldn’t stay where he was wanted, and it’s better than the idea that he’s just that fucked in the head.  


  
Humans have the expression ‘love at first sight’, it must happen instantly for them but for Crawly it sneaks up on him. Like owning a house for years before you find that one secret room that becomes your private safe room. He’s known Aziraphale for years… well, he’s known of Aziraphale for years before it dawns on him. For the first few millennia Aziraphale is off in the distance, the vague silhouette of a house he’s never visited. Then some time down the line Crawly hikes up his boots and decides to march over and say hello.  


  
He feels better around Aziraphale. Not necessarily happy but content, he is an angel after all, knowing for certain that the person your with isn’t going to beat or fuck you takes a lot of the edge off interacting. In hindsight Crawly has to wonder why he didn’t pursue him earlier. For the first few millennia they meet less than a dozen times and there are long gaps between each meeting.  


  
When Crawly changes his name to Crowley (in a somewhat successful attempt to feel better) Aziraphale forgets and calls him Crawly centuries after his stopped using it. It isn’t until the arrangement that anything noteworthy starts to happen. The arrangement was Crowley’s idea and if he was entirely honest his main goal was simply to get more time to himself. The unintended consequence of this was that he now had someone he would regularly meet and talk with and it slowly dawns on him that he has a friend, and he’s in love with that friend.  


  
Crowley can’t put an exact name to the odd cocktail of emotions that slides into him on this realization. Some welcome yet awful mix of relief, happiness, desperation, despair, and craving that the English language just doesn’t cater to. It figures that the one person he loves would be someone he shouldn’t even be near. Yet as time passes and meeting become more frequent and less professional he starts to think it doesn’t matter. If no one back home ever double checked to make sure he was behaving himself before why would they do so now? He’s pretty sure they can get away with it.  


  
They do get away with it. Could they get away with more? By now Crowley smells like a wet street dog that’s never known a brush, would anyone really notice if he rolled around a bit more? Would another session even make a change? Probably not, but he doesn’t want to fuck this up. He is not going to ruin the one thing that makes him feel as if he’s finally able to start putting the mirror back together. He’s going to keep this right where it is and that’s what he tells himself every time they meet.  


  
That is until one day, three nights after an air raid, Aziraphale and says:  


  
“Crowley I think I’m in love with you.” It takes a moment to register what he’s just heard and when it does he decides his earlier conviction in chastity was stupid.  


  
§  
They’re officially together for two months before they make love for the first time. Crowley’s on his hands and knees and Aziraphale rubs his back right where his wings would be. He is gentle and attentive, and as much as Crowley wants it that way it feels wrong and he shudders when he realizes why. He remembers the last time he was touched like this, thousands of years later and he remembers how gently Raphael fucked him and he remembers the green and purple bruise. He feels it now and he has to stuff his fingers in his mouth to keep himself quiet.  


  
Aziraphale is talking to him. Making sure he’s okay, cooing to him how good he is, and Crowley has to bite down to keep himself from crying. He can hear Aziraphale, he can feel him too, but all that’s running through his mind is every vengeful thing Beelzebub ever said to him, only now it’s coming back to him in his own voice.  


  
'What exactly is wrong with you? God must have been drunk when she made you, that has to be it, there’s no other explanation. You’re doing it again, watch this you’re gonna wake up and have a few red welts before lunch. You better pray he’s a virgin. You’re every other person’s cum bucket, at this point anything with you isn’t making love it’s rolling around in someone else’s cum rags. You’re only hope is he doesn’t know better. No wait, he’s to steady to be doing this for the first time I hope you enjoy it while it last. Do you really think he can’t smell that? Fucking hell it’s like you slept in a kennel for the last week, then again you are all of hell’s bitch, so what exactly do you expect.'  


  
It doesn’t stop. Crowley’s glad Aziraphale can’t see his face, he must look a sight. They come together, Aziraphale clamps his hands onto Crowley’s shoulders and Crowley buries his face in his pillow in the hope his scream can be mistaken for pleasure. He lies as still as he can and keeps his face covered by the pillow, only adjusted slightly so he can breathe. Aziraphale lies with him, stroking his hair, and he’s reminded of how Beelzebub would do this too. 'And how well did that turn out? Do you seriously think this will last? You’re worse than before! How the fuck are you going to keep this alive when you can’t keep your hands to yourself?' He can’t stop the thoughts and so he surrenders to them until exhaustion forces him into sleep.  


  
In the morning Crowley wakes up. His back feels cold and when he realizes why he bolts upright. Aziraphale isn’t there, he’s in his bed all alone. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, what have I done! No please! Please!' He curls up with the blankets forming a cocoon around him, the smell is over bearing, it’s like fermented vomit and hash browns- wait… Why does he smell hash browns?  


  
He uncurls from himself and wanders into the kitchen where Aziraphale is at the stove. Every demon has a breakdown when they fell, if not when it happened then eventually. Crowley has his right there in his kitchen. Aziraphale has to catch him so he doesn’t crack his head on the floor and he doesn’t break contact until their burnt breakfast sets off the smoke detector. It all comes spilling out like a ripped sand bag and by the time he’s done there’s a sizeable pool of snot, tears, and drool collecting between his knees.  


  
Aziraphale stays for the rest of the day. It isn’t till the sun goes down that he decides he has to leave. ‘People will get suspicious’ he says. Crowley doubts either side is watching but he doesn’t argue. It’s another two weeks before they try again. This time they are face to face, and Crowley doesn’t need to hide the tears that pour out when he comes.  


  
§  
Crowley is a she now. Aziraphale never liked she’s, he never had anything against them it’s just he never felt attracted to them. He say’s as much, but he loves Crowley and Crowley needs to be loved in this form, and he says as much. It’s been a long time since she’s been in this body. It’s like meeting an old friend when you haven’t seen them for years. She’s happy and yet scared that something once so familiar now feels strange. She really does need this. Aziraphale looks her in the eye as he slides his fingers into her. She stuffs her fingers into her mouth to keep herself quiet.  


  
If Crowley had to make a list of every fucked up thing she had let someone do to her she could probably fill a book larger than a complete dictionary of the English language. Sometimes they would ask him what she wanted, and usually she’d say she didn’t care (Which was for the most part true). It now seems strange to her that she never cried for any of them. Then again none of them ever told her she could. Aziraphale holds her gently, his wings out and wrapped around them both.  


  
“It’s alright love… I’ve got you, your safe here I promise. You can cry all you need to.” Crowley has never told anyone what happened all those years ago. She’s never told Aziraphale what has been happening ever since then but when he asks ‘what’s wrong?’ She finds she can’t lie to him anymore, and though it takes her a while she finds her voice. Aziraphale stays and listens, his grip on Crowley tightens, he pulls her closer and Crowley doesn’t mind that she’s getting bruised right now. It feels right.  


  
When she’s finally done, finally gotten everything out, she feels better but she doesn’t know what’s suppose to happen next. At first nothing happens and Crowley’s scared she said too much, but after a few minutes Aziraphale says:  


  
“Thank you for telling me… you’re very brave.” Crowley can’t help but giggle at that, Crowley suggests taking a bath together. The water calms them both and it takes Crowley a moment to realize she can’t smell that awful scent. It’s still there, but for now it’s powerless against the Lavender bubble bath.  


  
§  
It takes years, but it does happen. Crowley’s sitting on the porch, there’s lemonade on the little glass table, and he’s practically asleep on the porch swing listening to his husband humming to himself inside when it hits him. He’s happy with himself. The mirror is back together, it’s not the perfect square it once was, and the pieces don’t fit perfectly together but it’s more than enough. He can finally see himself, staring back and smiling softly.  


  
For a brief moment he thinks of Beelzebub and her insults, he thinks of Raphael and the day he fell. He thinks of all these things. Then that moments gone, and he’s back in the present, and he’s happy.


End file.
